


Year 2

by unofficialsherlockian



Series: Sherlock at Hogwarts [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bullying, Forced Drug Use, Gen, Kidlock, Quidditch, Teenlock, Violence, slight mention of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-23 05:25:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 14,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/922529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unofficialsherlockian/pseuds/unofficialsherlockian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John's second year at Hogwarts: the boys discover a mysterious drug being given to certain students in the castle. Sherlock and Moriarty also decide they are destined to face off, and both begin to find ways to get at the other. Meanwhile, John tries his hand at Quidditch and Molly Hooper takes an interest in Sherlock. But will the events of the year bring Sherlock and John closer together, or further apart then ever?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sherlock Visits

'I still think you should phone him,' John's mother insisted fussily as they watched John's owl, Imogene, fly out through the kitchen window.

'Mum, I don't even think Sherlock's brother owns a phone,' John said, sighing. 'They'll send an answer with an owl. It happens everyday in the wizarding world.'

'Bit old-fashioned, isn't it?' John gave her a look and she smiled. 'Well, let's hope he's allowed to come and stay.' John's mother thought for a moment. 'It's just him and his brother, then?'

John shrugged. 'As far as I know. He never mentions his family if he can help it, and he doesn't like being asked…'

The next day, Sherlock's reply came with Mycroft's proud brown owl.

_John-_

_Don't worry; I'm doing fine._

_I can definitely come on Friday. Mycroft says he'll send me over in a car, and I'll be there about 3.00pm—if that's alright. It'll be nice to be away from him for a bit—he's been annoying since he found out I was in the hospital wing so much last year. He works with Madam Pomfrey's friend—must've been a nice girl's gossip corner. You can expect more 'Please spy on my brother for me' letters this year._

_If you've seen the_ Prophet _, that Sergeant Lestrade's been in it a lot. There was an article on him yesterday._

_See you Friday-  
    Sherlock_

John's mother was pleased when he told her.

'But he doesn't like too many questions…or being touched,' John said hastily. 'And sometimes he keeps to himself for a while—he gets into these moods and doesn't talk for days on end…and he doesn't eat much…'

'John calm down!' His mother shook her head. 'If you can live with him, so can we.'

 

'Sherlock!'

Sherlock smiled a little at seeing John open the door. 'Hey. Good summer so far?' he asked as he came in.

'Not bad.' John helped Sherlock bring his things upstairs. 'You?'

'Er…' Sherlock looked at John. 'Better now.'

John smiled slightly and then stopped in the hall at the top of the stairs. 'Well, um, we used to have a guest bedroom, but it's all filled with stuff now…so we pulled a mattress in my room so you can share with me.' He led Sherlock into his bedroom.

'It's not much,' he muttered, opening the door. 'Sorry about the mess; my mum keeps asking me to clean…'

Sherlock stepped in and looked around, taking in the spell books and muggle comics littering the floor and the rugby and football posters on the walls. He looked at the few posters with moving images-England Quidditch.

'This is great,' Sherlock said smiling. 

There was a knock on the door and Mrs. Watson poked her head in. 'Hello, you must be Sherlock. I'm John's mother.' She smiled. 'John, your father rang and said he won't be home until 8.00 tonight, so it'll just be the four of us.'

'Fine.' Mrs. Watson smiled warmly as she left.

The summer was passing alot more quickly now that Sherlock was there. John and Sherlock spent much of the days talking, or sitting and relaxing. And trying to avoid Harry, who was adamant that they were a couple.

'I never saw that Prophet article you mentioned in your letter,' John brought up one day.

'Oh.' Sherlock sat back in the desk chair. 'Well...it was nothing really. Just something about Finch and Lestrade having the best amount of cases solved last year. And that Lestrade may be appointed to Detective soon.'

'Hmm...did he seem that impressive when you met him last year?'

Sherlock smiled a little. 'Finch-not so much. But yeah, besides telling me to go away and stop talking about shoes, I thought Lestrade was good. Maybe there's hope for magical law enforcement after all.'

'Is that what you want to do? After Hogwarts?' John asked. Sherlock shrugged. 'You should. You solved all those thefts last year…and those murders.'

'Yeah, but not Carl's death.' Sherlock's voice had darkened slightly. It was clear he still blamed himself.

'You're only twelve years old! Save stuff like that for the adults!'

'Right-the same adults who saw it as an accident and passed over me like I was…' Sherlock sighed broodingly. 'That's…pretty much all I've been thinking about this summer,' he admitted quietly. 'And I still don't know who killed him.'

John looked away. 'Just…Sherlock please, stop doing this to yourself.' Sherlock looked at him, and John shook his head. 'Or at least for now-it's summer break…'

Sherlock smiled, looking a bit ashamed. 'Sorry..I…I was just thinking…'

'Yeah, sometimes I think you do too much of that,' John said, standing. I suppose you finished your homework already?'

Sherlock shook his head. 'Just Snape's. I thought it was a pretty easy essay…'He smirked. 'Let me guess-that was the only one you didn't do.'

'I read the prompt!' John said defensively. Sigerson wandered over and thread himself between John's legs. 'And I wrote…a little bit. Honestly, if you weren't so bloody spectacular, I think you'd be a bit more sympathetic…'

'Spectacular?' Sherlock had a confused look on his face.

John sighed. 'Yes, of course. What else would you be?' Then he changed the subject before Sherlock could reply wincingly with 'freak'. 'What about your brother? He hasn't been sending letters yet.'

Sherlock attempted a smile. 'No, no he wouldn't be…' He sighed. 'He's advancing in the Ministry very quickly…Apparently he's the youngest to move so rapidly, which does wonders for his ego, believe me. He's got control over several people to spy on me now-doesn't have to ask through you anymore, though I think he'll try once we're back at school.' Sherlock fidgeted a bit and then said very quietly, 'I don't think I'll be living with him much longer.'

'Really?' John hesitated, but then, Sherlock had brought it up… 'Why? Did something happen?'

Sherlock shrugged. 'He's busy, I don't like him…I'm just going to go elsewhere, I hope.'

'Where?'

'Friend of the family,' Sherlock replied vaguely. 'I dunno. I probably won't find out until later this year.'

'Okay.' Then John lit up. 'I forgot-my parents got me a broom at the end of the school year!'

'What model?'

'It's a Cleansweep,' John said, pulling the broom out from beneath his bed.

'Nice,' Sherlock commented honestly. 'You really liked flying, didn't you?'

John nodded. 'Yeah. What about you? Have you got a broom?'

Sherlock shook his head. 'No. It broke a few years ago…' He gazed at the Cleansweep. 'And first years aren't allowed to have them, and I didn't have the gold anyway…So I didn't bother.'

'Well, you could use mine this year-whenever you want.'

Sherlock smiled. 'I might take you up on that…'

Chapter Management

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	2. Sherlock Visits

Nearing the end of term, John's mother suggested that the she drop John and Sherlock at Diagon Alley to buy their books for the new term. There were several interesting titles for their Defence Against the Arts class, which was a reminder of the fact that they would have a new teacher.

That night, John woke up sometime after midnight to find Sherlock sitting under the window, reading by the light of the moon.

'Don't you ever sleep?' John asked in a whisper.

Sherlock looked up. 'Sorry. Did I wake you up?'

John shook his head. 'Is there a reason why you're up or...?'

'No...Just can't sleep-too much on my mind.' He looked at John. 'You can go back to sleep.'

'Nah, I've got a better idea.'

John grabbed his broom and led Sherlock outside to the back garden, where they spent the night taking turns flying above it. John watched Sherlock who was looking happier. It was the best summer he'd ever had.

The next morning they came downstairs, tired, but happy.

'What are you two so happy about?' Harry asked. 'Did you have a good night? Sleep well?'

Sherlock smirked and said quietly, 'She's implying we've been shagging.' He bit into a piece of toast. 'I would say we're a bit young...'

'Harry, give me the jam' John said angrily as Harry pulled it away from him. 'You don't even like strawberry.' Harry stood, holding it above her head, and John stood as well, reaching over to it.'

'Why don't you ask your freak boyfriend to get it?' Harry asked angrily.  
John saw Sherlock paused at the word 'freak' and blink slightly. He looked from Sherlock to Harry, who was now grinning triumphantly; jam still held in her hand.  

John punched her.

Harry dropped jar, which fell to the ground and broke as she shouted, 'ow!' She looked at venomously. 'I hate you! You and the freak!' 

'SHUT UP!' John roared, lunging at Harry. But Sherlock grabbed him around the shoulders, holding him back.

'Leave it, John, just leave it,' Sherlock said quietly. John tried to pull against him, but the boy was strong for his thin, lanky body and still held him back. 'Let it go.'

'Harry!' came a cry from the next room. 'In here now! John, go upstairs until we're done!'

John sighed and headed upstairs. 

'What's this about?' Sherlock asked quietly, following him.

'Um-' John looked at Sherlock semi-embarrassed. 'She calls us to talk to her after a fight. She doesn't choose a side this way...' He shrugged. 'I guess it works-Why didn't you let me hit her again?'

'It wasn't worth it,' Sherlock muttered.

'Wasn't--? Sherlock, she called you a freakI would've thought you got enough of that at school.' John didn't say how he hated to see how hurt Sherlock looked whenever the word was said.

Sherlock stood at the window, and turned away from John to look out it, but his eyes weren't focused on outside. 'You don't have to protect me from everything, John.' He sighed. 'There aren't just good people and idiots-there's worse than that.'

John sighed as he was called downstairs to talk to his mother, where he explained that he had been defending Sherlock. When she still pressed him, he explained about the bullying at Hogwarts.

'Is that what you meant in your letter last year when you said he didn't have many friends?'

John nodded. 'I know I shouldn't have-It's just first it was the name calling and then people beating him up a bit.' He shook his head. 'Freak's what he got called the most...and he'll never admit it, but...I can tell that it hurts him'

'Well.' Mrs Watson stood and then pulled John into a hug. 'I'm proud of you John. And I understand that you want to be there for your friend. But please don't get into fights-please don't hurt people.' She let go of him. 'I'll speak to Harry, and let her know that she is not to speak that way. Now, you and Sherlock have to get to Diagon Alley, right?'

 

'You need any gold?' John asked, he they went to Gringotts to exchange his muggle money for wizard gold.

'Sherlock shook his head. 'Nope. Mycroft got some for me at the beginning of the summer'

Flourish and Blotts was first-there were three new books for Defence Against the Dark Arts an one for Potions, Charms, and Transfiguration. Sherlock also browsed a section on wizarding crime for a while. He spent a long time looking through a book on Sirius Black-John looked over his shoulder, interested.

'Who's that?'

'Wizard,' Sherlock replied, 'Killed 13 people with one curse shortly after Vold-' the shopkeeper looked up- '-erm..You-Know-Who was defeated...Most of them were muggles-they blamed it on a gas-leak'

'Huh.' 

John and Sherlock both bought a book-John's a large one on Quidditch. Sherlock looked at it as John paid for it. 'Really into Quidditch, aren't you?'

John shrugged.

At the apothecary, both boys needed new ingredients for potions; however, John caught Sherlock buying more than a few things that weren't on their list.

'Are you going to be experimenting with anything dangerous this year?' John asked, referring to how a potion had exploded on Sherlock, sending him to the hospital wing.

'Define "dangerous",' Sherlock said. He chuckled at John's face. 'Do I plan on blowing myself up again this year? No. But I'm not making any promises either.' 

John made a face. 'Sherlock..'

Sherlock laughed. 'C'mon.' And he started jogging ahead of John. John hurried to catch up with him.

Sherlock led them to Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream parlour and promptly bought John a large strawberry cone and a chocolate for himself.

'What's this for?' John asked, astounded.

'Best summer I've ever had,' Sherlock said, shrugging and licking his cone as head led them to the tables outside the shop. 'Thank you.'

'Aww, look at the cute couple!' 

John looked over Sherlock's shoulder and Sherlock turned. It was Sebastian, with two Ravenclaws.

'Why does everyone?' Sherlock muttered.

'C'mon Sherlock, you can do better than to hang out with the mudblood!'

In a flash Sherlock had stood, vaulted over the railing, strode furiously to Sebastian and lifted him into the air by his robes. 

'Say that again,' Sherlock said lowly, his face furious, 'say that again, and I'll have your precious rich-boy face all over the pavement.'

'C-c-c'mon, Sherlock, it was just a joke' Sebastian's eyes were wide.

'A JOKE?' Sherlock roared.

'Sherlock-' John started, walking over.

'Put him don!' the Ravenclaw girl cried nervously.

Sherlock let go of the boy, who breathed a sigh of relief and brushed off his already pristine clothes before speaking under his breath. 'Just stay away from me, you little freak.'

'Hardly little, _Seb_.' Sherlock regarded the boy until he wandered away. Then Sherlock turned to John and pointed to his ice cream cone. 'Can I use that? Dropped mine'

John handed it to him. 'Use-?'

Sherlock threw the ice cream, hard, at Sebastian's retreating from. It hit him squarely in the back and Sebastian let out a squeal, looking back at Sherlock.

'Oops. Slipped!' Sherlock made a face and waved. 'Hope it all comes out! Have a nice day, Sebastian!'

He and John walked away, laughing.


	3. A New Term

'Your dad's a doctor, right?' Sherlock asked John late in the summer.

'Yeah…' John looked at Sherlock. Bit different from healers, huh?'

Sherlock nodded. 'He's nice.'

'What did you expect him to be?'

'In my experience…doctors are just …annoying and idiots…'Sherlock shrugged.

'I wanted to be a doctor before I found out I was a wizard,' John commented.

'You could always be a healer now,' Sherlock reminded him. 

'Yeah. No offense to my dad, but I think I like them better.'

Sherlock laughed.

 

On September first, Sherlock and John were up early, frantically trying to pack for school. John's stuff was everywhere, and Sigerson was refusing to be shut inside his carrying cage.

'Come _on_ ,' Sherlock said, seizing the cat and attempting to stuff him in the cage. 'You can get out on the bloody train!'

Mrs Watson drove them after they had said goodbye to Harry and Mr Watson. John and Sherlock led the way past the barrier.

'Thanks for having me, Mrs Watson,' Sherlock said quietly. She held out her arms and Sherlock surprisingly, and flinchingly, accepted her hug.

'Of course, dear,' Mrs Watson said warmly. 'We'll have to do it again sometime.' Then she hugged and kissed John goodbye. 'I love you!' she called to John as they boarded the train. 

Sherlock quickly let Sigerson out of his cage once they'd found and empty compartment.

'Wonder who the new teacher'll be…' John said out loud.

Sherlock shrugged. 'One of the books they've asked for is by a suspected dragon dealer. Hope the information's good.' Then he looked up outside the compartment where three first year girls were standing.

'Hello, Sherlock.' It was a girl with long blond/brown hair. The she blushed and hurried away with the other two.

'What…' Sherlock looked to John, 'What was that about?'

John laughed. 'I think she likes you, mate!'

'Why?' Sherlock frowned. 'She doesn't even know me.'

John shook his head. 'Haven't you heard people since Rathe died last year?'

Sherlock looked at him. 'No one besides you talks to me.'

John looked down and then continued, 'It got around that you figured out it was Rathe killing all those guys…'

'I really could care less if people knew it was me or not,' Sherlock muttered.

 

At the feast, Sherlock and John were surprised to see two new teachers instead of one. Dumbledore introduced Professor Tesseract for Defence Against the Dark arts, and Matrewn for Astronomy. 

The feast progressed rather slowly, and John couldn't help but notice the girl who'd said hello to Sherlock on the train staring at the by the whole time. Her name was Molly Hopper and she'd been sorted into Hufflepuff.

That late that night, John noticed Sherlock still fully clothed, looking to head out.

'Why're you going out this late?' John asked, worried. 'You could get caught!'

'I've never been caught,' Sherlock insisted. 'I'm not gonna be able to sleep anyways; might as well be productive.'

'But what about Moriarty, or Klein…' John sighed. 'I don't want to see you get hurt if they happen to be out.' 

'Relax,' Sherlock said calmly. 'Moriarty's not gonna attack me on the first night. Besides, he's a prefect. He's got too much to do leading first years around-he hasn't got time for me.' But John saw Sherlock pocket his wand just in case.


	4. A Warning

The next morning, Sherlock looked tired, but still healthy and unharmed, to John's immediate relief. 'So, where did you go?'

Sherlock shrugged. 'Around. Found a few more passages. I'll show you later.' They sat at the Gryffindor table where McGonagall was handing out schedules.

'Snape first, with Ravenclaw,' John said, sighing. 

Sherlock also sighed. 'I hate the first day…It's so _boring_ …'

On their way down the stairs to the dungeons, Sherlock was pushed in the back by someone. He lost his balance and tripped down the stairs, cascading into the stone wall. 

'Sherlock!' John turned around angrily to see Moran and Klein standing behind him. 'What the hell?' he shouted.

'Getting our books,' Moran said innocently. 'And dropping off a message for you guys-Stay out of things this year.'

'Why?' Sherlock said defiantly from where he stood at the base of the stairs.

'Or else you're have to deal with me,' Moran said calmly.

'Moran, I swear, you stay away from Sherlock,' John growled angrily.

'Wow, jealous girlfriend.' Moran winked at Holmes. 'But I will need an answer.' He jumped down the last few steps to glare, eye to eye, at Sherlock. 

'No.'

Klein grabbed John swiftly and held him, arms behind his back, roughly. 'Ow-what the-?' But John could only watch, trapped, as Moran violently grabbed Sherlock. Sherlock pulled away quickly and hit the other boy. Moran put his hand to his face.

'You little—' Sherlock ducked under his swing but the next one hit him. Sherlock grunted and failed to dodge another punch that dropped him to the floor. Moran grabbed his arms and held him roughly to the floor. 'I could crush you like the disgusting insect you are,' Moran whispered violently in his ear. 'You're dead, Holmes!' And before Sherlock had time to respond, Moran'd slammed Sherlock's face into the stone floor. Sherlock cried out in pain and Moran dropped his hold and Sherlock's hair, and stood, motioning for Klein to follow him. 

John pulled out his wand and pointed his wand at Moran, but then Tesseract came through the door. 'You there!' he shouted. 'No spells in the corridors!'

'But he-' John pointed to Moran who left quickly. 

'Five points from Gryffindor,' Tesseract muttered, as John bent over Sherlock. 'What's happened to him?'

'I was trying to say,' John growled, helping Sherlock to sit up. His anger with Tesseract was forgotten as he looked at Sherlock, who had hi mouth and nose covered by his hand, blood trickling between his fingers. There was also a bit of blood coming from his forehead, where it had hit the stone. Sherlock's eyes watered with pain as he tried to breathe, making a soft, pained noise. John felt his stomach clench.

'Take him to the hospital wing and then get to your class.' Tesseract looked away.

John glared at her as he helped Sherlock up and walked out of the dungeons, supporting the taller boy under his arm. 'You alright…?'

Sherlock nodded, the hand covering his face shaking a little. 

'This is the second year you've started with your face bleeding from those two.'

'Shut up,' Sherlock said thickly through a mouthful of blood.

'Clutching your face won't help much, you know.'

Sherlock grunted and moved his hand away. Blood was still flowing from his mouth and nose. John looked at him, concerned.

'Why didn't you lie?'

'Why should I?' Sherlock winced. 

'To not get your face smashed in.' 

'John?'

'Yeah?'

'Shut up; my face hurts.'

John chuckled as they reached the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey was not pleased to see them.

'You?' she asked Sherlock. 'First bloody day and you find a way to get yourself here.'

'And what was it this time?' she asked, beginning to heal his head and face.'

'A stone floor.'

Pomfrey looked to john. 'What class are you two in?'

'Potions,' John sighed.

She sighed as she finished up with Sherlock. 'Well, you two had better get down there. And try not to let him fall into any more floors,' she added, exasperated, to John.

They entered Shape's classroom and the class looked up. Sally and Anderson gasped. 

'There's still blood on my face, isn't there?' Sherlock asked.


	5. New Problems

Snape called Sherlock back after class, so John hung around in the corridor waiting for him. Sherlock came out fairly quickly, and he and John started out of the dungeons.

'So what was that about?' John asked.

Sherlock shrugged. 'He wanted to know why I walked in late and bloody.'

'Did you tell him?'

'Nope.' Sherlock smirked a little. 'I told him my face ran into the floor. He doesn't need to know my problems.'

'Sherlock' Sherlock turned as John stopped. 'Maybe he could've helped.  He likes you.'

'Yeah, and he also likes the Slytherins,' Sherlock pointed out, shaking his head. 'I'm fine.'

 

Their first class with Professor Tesseract was the next day. He was as stern and as unhelpful as he had been the previous day. At the beginning of class, he made then each stand up and introduce themselves. When he came to Sherlock, she stopped him. 

'Ah, the disgusting bleeding boy.' Then he turned to John who was seated next to him. 'And his friend.' Some of the class looked and laughed.

John glared at him and Sherlock frowned, but Tesseract moved on.

'I hate him,' John announced after they'd left class.

'Quick judgement,' Sherlock commented, 'but in this case, not completely unjustified. 

'Hey bleeding boy,' a Hufflepuff boy shouted as he passed by, hitting Sherlock in the back of the head as he passed.

Sherlock rubbed the back of his head as he watched the boy and his friends hurry away. 'Great' he muttered. 'I'm so glad to see that such a clever nickname can stick.' 

 

       _Sherlock and John,_  
        _I hope your first week has been interesting, and that you, Sherlock, are not bored. John-thank you for letting Sherlock stay over the summer-I'm sure he had a good time._  
        _I want to hear from you both, so please write. As ever, Sherlock, I'm concerned about you.  
                _Mycroft__

John looked up from the letter. 'And do you plan on writing back?'

'Nope.' Sherlock sighed, putting down his Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook. 'He's just being a noisy git.'

'He is your brother,' John pointed out. 

Sherlock sighed. 'D'you want to take a walk?'

The two headed out onto the grounds and began wandering. Sherlock began talking about the last Defense Against the Dark Arts class, but then stopped at the lake, looking out at it moodily.

John knew why. This was where Carl Powers had died at the end of the previous year. Sherlock had jumped in to save him, but the boy was dead before Sherlock had gotten him out of the water. John hated that Sherlock blamed himself-though Sherlock had put the boy in danger-and Carl had paid for it.

'Sherlock?' John spoke quietly and Sherlock didn't move.  He didn't want Sherlock to fall into a mood like this-Sherlock would be depressed for ages if he did.

John reached out-and up, Sherlock had grown quite a bit over the summer-and gently put his hand on Sherlock's shoulder.

Sherlock flinched away, turning to look at John.

'Sorry,' John said. 'Don't touch you-I know.' He sighed. 'Justmaking sure you're okay.' He gave a smile smile.

Sherlock attempted a reassuring smile in return. 'Sorry. Let'shead back.'

The rest of the week passed quickly for Sherlock and John. John had a habit of moving Sherlock more quickly through the halls when he saw Moriarty or Moran approaching, something that amused Sherlock greatly.

'If he wanted to attack me, he would've done so by now,' Sherlock sighed. 'As it is, I haven't even done anything to merit his attentions-or he mine.'

'I just don't want to see you hurt this year,' john said defensively.

Sherlock smiled. 'John, regardless, it will probably happen. I've got a big nose that I like to poke in places.'

 

John started making a habit of leaving Sherlock a little while after dinner to take his broom out to the practice pitch and work on his flying. Soon, he'd brought out a bludger. He wanted to try out for the Quidditch team next year, but didn't want to ask for help practicing. Especially from Sherlock. Although the boy was good at flying, Sherlock hated sport. John'd been keeping his practice sessions a secret from his friend, knowing Sherlock wouldn't approve. But John was getting little sleep as a result of having to do his homework during break and later at night.

He'd also noticed Sherlock gone a few nights when he came back. Sherlock seemed to disappear more than John did.

'People with problems,' Sherlock had replied at 3 am, when he'd come in late to find John up still studying. 'Apparently, no one's beyond a little pettiness to get a good mark, or a bit of money. Criminal underground at Hogwarts is still going strong.'

'As long as you won't get hurt by anyone for helping,' John said, 'Since I'm not—' he bit his lip. It was his fault Sherlock was alone.

But Sherlock ignored him. 'You have to study. I'm fine on my own.'

 

And Defense Against the Dark Arts was continuing horribly, thanks to Professor Tesseract. He was openly rude to every student in his classes. And his name for Sherlock had stuck-there were gleeful shouts of 'Bleeding Boy' outside the classroom, and nasty calls of it in his room.

'Why do you care what people say about me?' Sherlock asked quietly. John had just gotten detention for shouting at Tesseract who'd been abusing Sherlock verbally in class, filling it with shouts of laughter.

It'd been too much for John, seeing Sherlock's hurt face, and he'd stood, swearing at Tesseract. The detention had been worth it. The class had stopped laughing.

'Because I just-' John started, trying to answer Sherlock, but he sighed. He didn't want to tell Sherlock that he'd seen how hurt he was-Sherlock would just be angry at himself. 'I just do, alright?'

'And you don't think I care that you're in detention?' Sherlock looked at John piercingly. 'Don't stick up for me, John, I'm not worth it.'

John sighed, biting his lip. It was bad enough that other people hurt Sherlock; John couldn't stand it when the boy demeaned himself. And he couldn't shout at Sherlock for hurting himself.

Sherlock was quiet that night, absorbed in a book. Despite John not wanting to leave the boy to any possible taunts of the common room's occupants, he looked unlikely to here them, so John headed out for his nightly fly.

He wished he could get Sherlock out at night as well; it might help the boy-being physically active on days like these. But John didn't want to ask. Sherlock could be deeply cutting and hurtful when he wanted to and John wasn't sure what Sherlock would say about Quidditch practice.


	6. It's Never Nothing

'Hey.' Sherlock smiled bracingly as John slid next to him at breakfast. 'I've got detention Friday night too.'

John had been later to breakfast than Sherlock, who wasn't eating again. He'd stayed out too late flying the night before.

'What did you do?' John asked. This was one of those few times that John was reminded that despite his marks, Sherlock was not always the model student. 

'Got caught wandering out late,' Sherlock sighed. 'The Gryffindor team's locker room was vandalised. Obviously Slytherins, but Rybek wanted me to look into it.'

'And you couldn't do that during the day?' John asked.

'No. I was in the library most of yesterday. Besides, Rybek only came after dinner, and I wanted to get it done quickly.' He sat back and looked at John. 'It was a few fifth years who did the locker room. Used a burning spell that the Slytherin fifth years learned two days ago. There's two fifth years on the Slytherin team. Most likely it was them.' He shrugged. 'So, how's Quidditch training going for you?'

John gaped at him and Sherlock smiled.

'Oh, c'mon. You've been out nearly every night since we've gotten back, and you're broom's been gone with you. Muddy shoes and wet clothes on the nights it's been raining…' Sherlock grinned at john. 'You're not being too secretive, John.'

John hung his head. 'I thought you'd make fun of me…'

Sherlock frowned.

'I guess not.' John shook his head. Then he looked at Sherlock. 'Since…you know now, can you help me train?'

Sherlock looked at him. 'John, you know I don't like-'

'Please, Sherlock, it's a lot harder by myself. You'd just have to fly around.'

'…Fine.' Sherlock sighed. 'What position?'

'Beater.' John looked at him.

Sherlock smirked 'Yes, you can hit me with dangerous flying objects.'

 

Later that week, in Potions, a few of the Ravenclaws came into class looking dazed and disoriented, a few of them blinking madly or tripping over. Snape yelled at them viciously for almost knocking things over or dropping them, but they kept their glazed look.

'Strange…' Sherlock muttered, watching a few of them. Sally was trying to hold a conversation with her friend, who wasn't answering, merely looking off, distant and blinking. 

'What?' John asked. He looked at the Ravenclaws. 'Maybe they just didn't sleep enough or something…'

'Maybe…' Sherlock watched as Sally huffed angrily at her friend, who still was staring off. 

'HOLMES!' Snape snapped, grabbing Sherlock's arm swiftly and tugging it away from the boy's cauldron. Sherlock flinched violently and pulled away quickly.  'Watch what you are doing! Are you trying to poison us?' Snape hissed.

Sherlock looked at the flask in his hand and put it down swiftly. He was still tensed and leaning away from Snape. Snape met his eye and then swept away.

'What…what was that?' John asked slowly.

Sherlock relaxed slightly at John's voice. 'Had I poured that…it would've released a poisonous gas…' He grinned a little. 'Oops.'

John snorted. 'Well, lucky at least Snape was paying attention.'

Sherlock bent over his work again, still thinking. His flinch had disturbed John a little.

But by the end of the class, Sherlock had righted his potion and the Ravenclaw students were acting normally again.

'So it could be nothing,' John commented, as he and Sherlock left the dungeons.

Sherlock snorted. 'Oh come on, John. It's never nothing here.'


	7. Close to the Mark

'Do you want to do something else while I hit these at you?' John asked. Sherlock had taken to looping around the pitch lazily as John hit the bludgers. They both were getting bored fast. 

Sherlock shrugged. 'Doesn't matter to me.' He was bruised, and could feel it. But it only showed that John had been doing well over the past few nights. In fact, John seemed to be holding back a bit, probably because Sherlock wasn't going as fast as a normal player would.

'Hang on.' 

John flew down and came back, a snitch in his hand. 'You're good at spotting things-try it.' And he let go of the golden ball.

'You want me to catch it,' Sherlock muttered quietly. He hovered in one place, making a small circle on the borrowed broom and then suddenly took off. Three minutes later, he had the Snitch in his hand.

John gaped at Sherlock.

'What?' Sherlock frowned, trying to see if he'd done something wrong.

'Why aren't you trying out?' John asked, amazed. 'That was incredible!'

Sherlock shrugged. 'Aren't you supposed to be hitting me?'

He released the snitch as John grinned. Now John wasn't holding back anymore. It was a lot harder to hit a moving target that was flying with purpose.

John hit a bludger as hard as he could and looked-Sherlock cried out in pain and was on the ground before John could blink. 

 

'Sherlock! Sherlock!'

Sherlock blinked open his eyes, lying on the damp grass. John was kneeling over him anxiously.

'Sherlock, I'm sorry…my God, I'm sorry…' John looked frantic.

'Ow…' Sherlock stopped groaning when he saw the look on John's face. He sat up rubbing his head as pain shot through it.

'Are you alright? Sherlock, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean—' 

'Will you just shut up?' Sherlock asked, sighing. 'I'm fine.'

John bit his lip, wanting to help Sherlock sit up, but also not wanting to see Sherlock flinch away when John reached for him.

Sherlock winced a bit. 'Nice, John.' He smiled slightly at John's stricken look. 'Isn't that what you're supposed to do? Knock them out?'

'But not you!' John protested. 'C'mon, I'm done for tonight.' He looked at Sherlock. 'You don't have to come out here with me anymore.'

'John.' Sherlock shook his head, pain in his eyes as he did so. 'This isn't like last year. That wasn't you're fault; I went after Rathe. Look, I'm fine.'

'You're not fine.' John ignored the comment about last year. He still felt responsible for Sherlock having been hurt. 'I just knocked you out-and you keep wincing. Your head's still throbbing, isn't it? And that is my fault…'

Sherlock closed his eye. 'Shut up. Now.' John looked at him, wide-eyed, and Sherlock shook his head. 'I'm fine. You, of all people, have definitely seen me worse. Now shut up, and we'll go back to the common room. And I'm still gonna help you train.

Throughout the next few weeks, many students walked into class exhibiting the same behaviour as the Ravenclaws had in Potions. They seemed completely unaware of their surroundings.

'Someone has to be doing this to them,' Sherlock said one day.

'But why?' John looked at him. 'They're just...disoriented.'

'Maybe that's only the first symptom.' Sherlock looked thoughtful. Then he turned to John. 'Good luck with try-outs tonight.'

'Thanks,' John said nervously. He knew his aim was good, and his hits were really strong (thankfully, he'd managed to avoid knocking Sherlock out again) but he still was afraid he wouldn't make the team.

'You'll do fine,' Sherlock said. 'Really, you're a great flyer.' He sighed. 'I'll probably spend the time finding last year's Quidditch cup.'

 

'Sherlock!'

Sherlock turned around looking to see Bill Murray.

'What is it? Something wrong?' He could tell from the boy's face that something bad had happened.

'It's Victor Trevor-you know him. He didn't want to give a few Slytherins his Transfiguration Essay...and they hit him and took him some where.'

'Where? Dungeons?' Sherlock was already hurrying out of the corridor.

'Maybe... They went down the stairs and I couldn't find a teacher '

'They couldn't have wanted his essay that badly,' Sherlock muttered, shaking his head. 'What are they up to?'

He hurried down the stairs as Bill went back to trying to find a teacher. Scuff marks made it look like someone had been dragged. Sherlock quickened his pace and went into the dungeons. He walked through the corridor quickly but quietly, listening intently

There. Sounds of struggling. Sherlock tried the classroom door-locked.

'Alohomora,' he whispered.

It was pitch dark. Sherlock wondered what on earth could've been happening in here.

'Victor?' he hissed. He tripped over a lump on the floor. A lump that made a muffled yelp.

'Victor!?' Sherlock bent down and quickly untied the boy. Victor was bound and gagged by ropes and was huddled in the corner, trembling weakly, tears streaming down his face. 'What did they...? Diffendo..' He cut away the ropes and Victor's eyes widened .

Sherlock was grabbed violently from behind and Victor stood, tripping as he moved away fearfully. 'Run!' Sherlock mouthed to Victor and he boy did before someone held Sherlock tightly by the arms and another person held his head back while a third tipped some sort of liquid into his mouth. It was foul-tasting-he tried not to swallow but the hand under his head made him. He gagged as it slid horribly down his throat and then he was thrown out into the corridor, head spinning.

 

John was just walking back into the entrance hall, beaming slightly. Then he saw Sherlock stumble out from the entrance to the dungeon, moaning quietly and clutching his stomach.

'Sherlock!' John ran over quickly and Sherlock collapsed at his feet, sweating and shaking, his breaths shallow and rattling. 'God, no, Sherlock!'


	8. Drugged

'Bardus relaxere,' Madam Pomfrey said curtly to Professors McGonagall and Snape. 

Snape frowned. 'Really?' He looked down at Sherlock's unconscious form on the bed. 'How much?'

'Too much over the safe limit,' Pomfrey said quietly. 'He's had a high overdose-I'm amazed he's alive quite frankly.'

'I'm sorry,' McGonagall said. 'What is it, exactly?'

'It's a relaxant potion,' Pomfrey said briskly. '…Of sorts. It's not quite illegal, but some do use it recreationally. It's far too easy to overdose without precaution. How he ever managed to get some—'

'You think he was taking it?' McGonagall said, looking amazed. 'Poppy, this is _Sherlock Holmes_ we're talking about. '

'How else would he have drunk it, Minerva?'  Why else _should_ he have drunk it?'

'No.' Snape spoke softly from his place a few feet from Sherlock's bedside. 'He wasn't taking it. The bruises on his face and throat, cut lip, finger marks on his arms and throat-Someone forced him to take it. Either they knew they were giving him too much, or they weren't aware how much could potentially kill him.'

McGonagall looked at Madam Pomfrey. 'I will inform the headmaster. He would like to know if there is anything like this posing a threat to the students. It's a potion?'

Pomfrey nodded. 'It doesn't take much to achieve the desired effect. And it also doesn't take much to overdose.

'Nothing has been taken from my stores or office,' Snape muttered, 'so I highly doubt any students made it. Whether or not this was a student, however, is an entirely different matter.'

'It could've been brought here…Unless it wasn't a student and they were using their own ingredients…' She sighed. 'I'm going to see the headmaster right now.' She looked at Sherlock for a moment before swishing out.

'He won't be conscious for a while, Severus. You won't learn anything until then.' Pomfrey looked at Snape.

Snape shifted before striding out quickly and angrily.

 

Sherlock blinked. His stomach was on fire, he felt weak, and his head…was throbbing and yet weirdly empty. He shook his head experimentally. Then sat up slowly, vision swimming, but Sherlock ignored it, and tried not to notice that he was in the hospital wing.

'-Five minutes. I won't have him collapsing again.'

Sherlock was glad that he was at least able to smirk at Madam Pomfrey as she came in, flanked by McGonagall and Snape. She glared at him.

'Holmes.' Sherlock thought he spotted relief on McGonagall's face, but then again, his head was out of sorts, so it could have been his imagination. Snape's face, to the contrary was, as always, impassive and he stood three feet away from the bed. Ever since he'd made Sherlock flinch in class, he'd kept a distance from him.

'Yes?' he asked. He knew full well what they wanted, but he didn't feel like mouthing off right now. The strange clear buzz in his head was wondrously distracting. 

'Holmes, Mr Watson found you unconscious in the Entrance Hall from an overdose of Bardus relaxere.' McGonagall sighed. 'It's illegal, but Professor Snape has deduced that you were not taking it-that someone had forced you to drink it. Is he right?'

Sherlock thought it was remarkable how steady she kept her voice in contrast to the worry on her face. 'Bruises…' he said softly.

'What?'

'That's how Professor Snape knew…I was forced.' Sherlock wasn't happy about talking or thinking-it made his head feel blurry, but he needed to focus.

'Yes.' Snape spoke quietly from his distance away.

'No I don't.'

McGonagall blinked, frowning in confusion. 'Holmes?' She looked at him piercingly.

'Aswer to your question-you haven't asked it yet.' Sherlock smirked as the look of annoyance washed that of worry off her face. Finally. He sighed. 'No, I don't know who drugged me. I was following Victor-Trevor-apparently someone was trying to bully the essay you set out of him. Anyway, I found him, he ran, it was dark and they came up behind me.' He met her eyes evenly. 'I'm sorry.'

'It's alright, Holmes.' Her gaze softened slightly. 'Are you feeling alright?'

'Fine,' Sherlock said quietly. He was starting to feel panic from being in the hospital wing rising in his chest, despite the drugs soothing buzzing attempting to fight away all feeling. He liked the feeling. 'Just tired.' And he was, although he didn't want to sleep. He just wanted them to leave so he could think.  
McGonagall briefly put her hand on Sherlock's shoulder and he tensed before she withdrew it. 'Very well, we'll leave you.'

She turned away as Sherlock closed his eyes briefly and then they flashed open again before Snape took one step closer to him.

'What?'

'Disrespectful.'

Sherlock sighed, rolling his eyes and then glared at Snape. 'Fine, what is it, _Sir_?'

'You know the question,' Snape replied silkily. He was frowning as he looked at Sherlock, searching for something that wasn't quite there.

'Then maybe you know my answer.' Sherlock closed his eyes and laid back in the bed.  'I don't know exactly who it was…' He looked at Snape. 'And you won't like it, but…they were Slytherins.'

Snape nodded. 'Holmes.' And he swept out quietly.


	9. Worry

'What the hell were you doing?' John asked, sitting beside Sherlock.

Sherlock flicked a smile. 'That's better than most everything the teachers asked.' He sighed. "Victor was taken by a few Slytherins...I went to help and...well...' 

John exhaled. 'They wouldn't tell me exactly what happened to you...but everyone looked worried. ...I was scared,' he finished in a small voice. 

'Then I won't tell you-It'll probably scare you even more.' Sherlock looked at John. 'I don't want to scare you.'

'I want to know.'

Sherlock looked at John's serious face. 'Alright...' He sighed. 'Apparently I was overdosed on bardus relaxere. It's a relaxant potion,' he said at John's confused look. 'For the most part, illegal. Really easy to give someone the wrong amount. Pomfrey thought I was taking it.' He chuckled softly.

'So you could've died,' John whispered. 'God...'

'See? And now you're worried.'

'It's worse not knowing,' John said, trying to keep his voice firm. 'Who did it?'

'Snape pressed me on that. Slytherins. That's all I know.' He let out a breath. 'Either they knew the amount they gave me could kill me, or they didn't know much about the potion...I'm leaning more towards the latter...' 

'But you know alot about the potion.'

Sherlock nodded. 'And I'm not taking it if that's what you're thinking.'

'I wasn't,' John said quickly. 'You know alot about alot of different things...' He looked at Sherlock. 'So is someone trying to kill you?' He was worried, he was scared, but he wanted to know, and he wanted to protect Sherlock.

'Probably not.' John breathed a sigh of relief. 'That honestly matters to you?'

John could've hit Sherlock if his friend wasn't so weak. 'Of course it does! Why wouldn't it!?'

Sherlock shrugged. 'Doesn't seem to matter to anyone else. Anyways, I think they were just giving me the potion to keep me quiet while they threw me out. didn't want me alerting anyone.' He smiled bracingly.

'What did they want with Victor?'

'Bill Murray said they wanted his essay....But that can't be what this was about.'

John looked Sherlock in the eyes. 'You didn't tell Snape or any of the others this, did you?'

Sherlock shook his head. 'No.'

'Sherlock, they could help you--'

'Like McGonagall did with Carl last year?' Sherlock sighed, voice rising bitterly. 'Whoever they were were Slytherins. I highly doubt he'd choose me over them, no matter how much I'm like them.' 

John started. 'What d'you mean by that? You're not like them...'

'Nevermind-'

John was shooed out by Madam Pomfrey and he grudgingly left, worried.


	10. Mysteries

Sherlock was out of the hospital wing the next day, still looking weak and groggy, but healthier.

‘Did you end up making the Quidditch team?’ Sherlock asked John, before the other boy could even think of asking how Sherlock was feeling. 

‘Wha—Oh. Um, yeah…I did.’ John shook his head. ‘Not that it mattered to me seeing what followed afterward.’

Sherlock ignored the last bit. ‘So when’s the first match?’

John looked at him, suspicious. ‘You’ve never cared about Quidditch before,’ he said.

Sherlock looked at him, opening the door to the Potions classroom, letting John walk in before him. ‘That was before you were on the team,’ he said amiably. ‘It’s different when your friend’s playing.’

John sat down. ‘Oh! Well, we train for a bit and then play Hufflepuff for the first match.’

‘Hello, freak,’ Sally said as she passed Sherlock on the way to her seat. ‘You’re back.’

‘Will you please shut up?’ John snapped at her.

Sally smirked and strode to her seat.

Snape kept a wide berth from Sherlock and Sherlock remained focused on the lesson, even with Sally and Anderson whispering about him loudly from the back. He turned in his usual perfect potion, whereas John’s skills were still sorely lacking. However he wasn’t so worried about his potion marks this year. He’d heard a sixth year being told by McGonagall that the class was very advanced. So John’s average or slightly-below marks didn’t seem as bad.

As the bell rang, signalling the end of class, Snape called Sherlock back. John passed him to wait in the hall, and saw Sherlock wearing a wry smile.

 

‘What did he want?’ John asked, as Sherlock emerged, shaking his head, five minutes later.

‘Just asking again if I knew anything.’ Sherlock sighed. ‘They’re all being idiots about the whole thing—they’re not going to find anything.’

‘Aren’t they?’ John asked. ‘They’re smart, they’re all professors for a reason….’

‘No.’ Sherlock shook his head. ‘No, I stumbled into whatever was going on by accident. They won’t be so lucky.’

‘Sherlock, you’re going to look into this, just like you did with Rathe last year.’ Sherlock didn’t reply and John sighed heavily. ‘I don’t want to see you get killed.’

Sherlock smirked. ‘I don’t plan on dying yet, John.’ He grinned. ‘Lunch?’

 

The next day, Sherlock and John were in the back of Tesseract’s class, Sherlock furiously scribbling out an essay for History of Magic, and John doodling in his book, wanting to keep on Sherlock for who might have drugged the boy. 

_Do you think it was Moriarty?_ John wrote on a scrap of paper and passed to Sherlock.

Sherlock’s eyes darted over the sentence, flicked to John, and then he bent over, quickly scrawling out a reply.

_Why?_

John sighed heavily, annoyed with Sherlock.

_Because if anyone is trying to kill you, he has the most reason to. And even if he was behind it, but not trying to kill you, he would have no problems with you dying accidentally._

It was a little while before Sherlock returned the note.

_Why can’t you just stop worrying about it for now? I’ve told you—I’ve old everyone—I don’t know who it is._

John looked at him and then wrote furiously back.

_You’re secretive. I just don’t want to be lied to._

Sherlock sighed. And then put his head in his hands.

_I want to be sure I know what’s going on before I tell anyone. If I accuse someone and it turns out not to be them, it would be trouble. Just let me be for the moment, alright?_

He was looking at John deploringly when John looked up from the paper. And John nodded. He did trust Sherlock, he just wanted to know if his friend was in danger. Relief flowed into Sherlock’s eyes and he went back to his essay.

It was early Saturday morning when Sherlock and John were interrupted from a planned day of exploring the castle.

Molly and another first year sat next to Sherlock as he was finishing his toast. John was trying to get the boy to eat more, but Sherlock still didn’t eat much. He claimed it was because he wasn’t used to having this much food.

Sherlock seemed oblivious to Molly’s shy staring at him, but John new him well enough to tell he was annoyed.

It was a few more minutes before Sherlock turned to her. ‘Problem?’ he asked quietly, raising his eyebrows.

‘Um….hi’ Molly stuttered shyly. Sherlock rolled his eyes, and John could only guess what sort of violent movements or rude exclamations were going through his friend’s head. ‘Um, I heard you help people with their problems.’

‘What does that have to do with your owl?’ Sherlock asked.

‘W…what? How did you-?’

Sherlock sighed. ‘Straw clinging to your jumper, droppings on your feet, and there’s the smell.’ Molly blushed.

‘Shut up, freak,’ Molly’s friend exclaimed from beside her.

‘I’m sorry, I don’t think I was talking to you,’ Sherlock said coolly. The girl put her head down quietly. Sherlock looked at Molly. ‘Why are you coming to me about your owl?’

‘My…owl’s been missing for a week and I was wondering…well, if you could find her.’

Sherlock sighed and nodded. Molly smiled nervously and walked off. ‘Um, I’ll see you in the owlery after lunch?’

Sherlock nodded. The he turned to John. ‘Figures. I nearly die and then afterward the only eventful thing is a missing owl.’

‘Be thankful you’re not dying,’ John said quietly. Sherlock’s statements still often alarmed him.

 

‘Something…’ Sherlock was slowly searching around the owlery, while Molly watched him, blushing.

Sherlock checked all the hollows, and some of the mess of straw and things around them as he headed up the stairs. Then the wind blew, ruffling his hair and robes. He looked around. ‘And the draft is from?’

John frowned. ‘There’s openings all around, Sherlock.’

Sherlock shook his head. ‘No…’ He looked up. There was a hole in the wall, and part of the roof, looking like it had collapsed in. Sherlock bent over, feeling some of the brick and wood on the ground. Then he straightened up. ‘Missing pet,’ he scoffed quietly.

John looked around. ‘Did you find Molly’s owl?’

‘Shhh…’ Sherlock looked up. There was a soft hooting noise. ‘Found you…’ he muttered.


	11. We're Just Alike

'Did you find the missing owl?'  
The voice came from behind Sherlock, but he didn't even turn. 'No preamble?' he asked, finishing tying his letter to Mycroft on one of the school owl's legs. Mycroft had been informed about what had happened to Sherlock, and had been in a frenzy. He saw the bird out the window before at last facing Moriarty. 'Yeah. The bird was still alive even after being caved in for a week.' He looked up into the rafters where he'd had to climb to dig out Molly's owl from the stone that had fallen. 'Not one of your crimes, obviously.'

Moriarty shook his head, smiling a little. 'Obviously. And accident, clearly. But a clever one.'

Sherlock turned away, a smile smiling playing on his lips as he looked out the window. 'You know why.'

Moriarty chuckled. 'It's interesting when one's own habit is used against them. Makes for a nice change of perspective.' He looked at Sherlock. 'I know why, I just want to hear you say it.'

'Why won't I tell them that you drugged me,' Sherlock said. He looked at Moriarty. 'I want to figure out _why_ you drugged me. And there's the fact that most people may not believe me, and if they did, you would get expelled and these smaller crimes would stop.'

'See?' Moriarty smirked. 'We're more alike than you give us credit for sometimes. You could've been in Slytherin if you weren't so brave that it made you so damn good.'

Sherlock looked at Moriarty. 'No...if you and I were so alike, you would know that I'm not so "damn good".' 

Moriarty looked into Sherlock's eyes for a while. Then he shook his head. 'No...Nope, I don't see it. Then again, we've only been at this for a year.' He moved next to Sherlock, sharing the view out the window. 'Give it time, Sherlock.'

'So you're not going to kill me now.' Sherlock spoke with definitely certainty, no trace of a question in his words.

'I knew how much of the potion I gave to you. I also knew you would survive. I just gave you a taste.' Moriarty's head swerved a bit from side to side, snake-like. 'You can do the rest on your own.' He looked Sherlock straight in the eyes. 'Give me a good game, Sherlock.' Then he began walking to the doorway. 

'And you think you'll win?' Sherlock asked, turning and causing Moriarty to pause, hand on the opening to the doorway.

There was a low chuckle, then an utterance, and then Moriarty kept walking. 'But I'll play to the death anyway.'

Sherlock could've sworn that before that final remark, Moriarty had said 'I hope not.'

John was nervous. Very nervous.

'You made the bloody team, now just play the game,' Sherlock said. He hadn't mentioned his talk with Moriarty at the owlery to John. 'C'mon, you like Quidditch.'

'Yeah, but Sherlock, this is the real thing. It's different.' John looked away. 'You wouldn't understand, you don't play a sport.'

Sherlock looked down. 'Yeah, you're right. But I know you'll be fantastic...you're an excellent flyer.' He sighed. 'Just...try not to worry about it, you'll be great.'

John looked at him. Encouragement was strange, coming from Sherlock. 'Is something...wrong?' he asked carefully.

'Yeah...No, I mean. No, I'm fine.' Sherlock looked at John. 'Just alot on my mind, as always.'

'No new...theories on what's been going on? Or nothing new about Moriarty?'

'As of now, no...' This wasn't coming easy to him. He wasn't exactly lying, but he definitely did not want to tell john about Moriarty and their conversation. It would worry and anger John and Sherlock didn't want that.

'Something important is on your mind though. I want you to tell me before you do anything dangerous again.'

'You were trying out for the Quidditch team. I couldn't really march onto the pitch and tell you Victor was in trouble.' Sherlock put a piece of toast between his teeth, and then swung his legs over the bench and stood.

John looked at his watch and groaned. 'Now we really get to see if I'm good at flying.'

Sherlock pulled the toast out of his mouth, chewing the bite he'd taken. 'You'll be fine, John. Honest. I'll see you after the game.' He put the toast between his teeth, slung his bag over his shoulder, and then stuck his hands in his pockets and left.

John shook his head and stood shakily. 'Okay...I can do this...'

It was when John was grabbing his broom that he realised he wasn't shaking any more. Now that he was changing into action, he seemed perfectly calm.

 

The whistle blew and the game began. John went zooming around the field, looking everywhere for the opposing team's beaters, and any sign of an opportunity to stop the opposing team from scoring.

It wasn't long before Whitcross, the team's captain, was speeding off towards the opposing hoops. But close behind him was Hufflepuff's chaser.

John sent a bludger at the Hufflepuff and it hit him, allowing whitcross to score. The captain flew past John. 'Nice one, Waston!'

They were losing badly when John happened to look over at the stands, and see Sherlock sitting next to a Slytherin who John had seen with Moriarty often. The two looked like they were deep in discussion, and John was instantly worried about what was going on.

But by the end of the game, John had stopped three Slytherins at key moments, and twice teamed up with the other Gryffindor beater to put Gryffindor in the lead. Gryffindor won by a small margin. Whitcross was cheering happily, and kept congratulating John for a job well-done.

'I knew you'd be fantastic,' Sherlock said grinning back in the common room. John grinned back. He'd completely forgotten that he's seen Sherlock and Moriarty's friend talking.


	12. Freak

The snow was down heavily in December as the days inched closer to Christmas break. John found Sherlock by the lake often, playing with different fire charms by the frozen water.

The dungeon where they had potions class was freezing, once again the worst place in the castle to be in. The only ones who didn't seem to notice the cold were Sherlock and Snape. John often thought about how alike the two were, despite the differences in houses. However, Snape seemed to be avoiding Sherlock most of the time now, and Sherlock gave off an all too clear air that he was annoyed at Snape. The two definitely didn't seem as close as they were the previous year. John wouldn't have minded, since he didn't like Snape at all, but Sherlock was lonely enough and seemed happier when he'd had a teacher to work with his brilliance at a subject.

John was actually surprised the Sherlock would give up a connection to a teacher like Snape, but then again, Sherlock was the type to do his own thing, even if it meant losing people along the way. John just hoped it would never happen between him and Sherlock.

 

Sherlock came into the common room a few days before break, soaking wet, covered in snow, and shivering violently. A few people laughed. Sherlock frowned, a bad look in his eyes, and quickly strode to the dormitory stairs, pulling off his cloak as he did so.

'Sherlock?!' John came up the stairs quickly after him. They were alone in the dormitory.

'GO AWAY!' Sherlock shouted angrily.

'Sherlock, seriously, tell me what happened.' John remained in the doorway stubbornly.

'NOTHING!' Sherlock shouted. He turned away from John, shirtless now. 'Nothing happened, it's FINE, John!.' He sat on his bed heavily, running his hands though his wet curls.

John swallowed heavily, seeing Sherlock's torso, still scarred from the explosion last year. Those weren't supposed to be there; those were John's fault. John felt even more compelled to help his friend now.

'I'm not leaving.' John crossed his arms. 'Why're you soaked?'

'Got pushed in the lake,' Sherlock muttered, looking away from John, still trying to towel himself off.

'What!?' John looked at his shivering friend. 'Who...?'

Sherlock shook his head. 'It's not Moriarty if that's what you're thinking. It's too childish for him, and anyways, we more or less reached a...sort of understanding the other day.'

John blinked. 'Then who was it?' He wanted to be able to help Sherlock, but he also didn't think coming near the boy was a good idea yet.

'Just some people who thought I was showing off by being clever...or whatever,' Sherlock said quietly. He pulled a clean shirt on, and his teeth chattered softly.

John thought aout the past few months. Sherlock had been teased quit a bit about people, and by Tesseract. Even by people from his own house-those who'd laughed when he walked him dripping wet. 'God Sherlock...' John looked at him, upset for his friend. 'You look really cold...'

'yeah...' Sherlock shivered again as he pulled on his other cloak. 'Lake's...lake's pretty frozen.' He sat quietly for a moment. Then--'I'm too clever, too tall, too meddling, too...too much of an idiot...and worth too...too little.' His voice cracked.

'Stop it. Sherlock, stop that!' John finally went over to Sherlock and sat down next to him. 'You're fine...Sherlock, you're perfectly fine, do't listen to them.'

'I can't help it--I've got ears, haven't I?' Sherlock looked over to John, shivering alot less now. 'Are you staying for Christmas?'

John blinked. 'Um...yeah actually. My parents and Henry are visiting relatives and said I could stay here or go.'

sherlock smiled a little. 'Good. It'll be nice to have company.' John gave him and odd look and Sherlock smirked. 'Mycroft and I can't really be in the same room for long--things get bloody. Besides, he's busy with the ministry and I'd rather stay here.'

John hated how quickly Sherlock dropped the subject of him being pushed in the lake, but there really wasn't anything he could do about it. He decided that he would leave it for now, but bring up the fact that Sherlock was being bullied the next time he thought it was happening.


	13. Christmas and a Message

'Wow, Sherlock...' John gasped. He'd gotten a huge book of Quidditch information and teams, with illustrations. 'This is...wow,' he muttered, flipping through it and watching the players fly across the pages. John stopped for a moment, wondering how much gold it had to have costed his friend.

'Don't mention it,' Sherlock said. His pile of gifts was a total of four packages. He opened the one from John first. 'Thank you!' Sherlock smiled happily at the package full of unique potion ingredients and a few defense against dark arts supplies.

John started going through his other gifts. His dad had gotten him a new sweatshirt and a few books about medicine in the wizarding world. Harry had gotten him a card, and the parcel from his mum was full of sweets and a new quill. 

Sherlock opened two of the other packages, smiling warmly. Homemade bakery and a new scarf. He read through the letter attached, smiling even more, and then held out the tin of bakery to John. 'Have one.'

'They're yours!' John said. 'You don't eat enough already--'

'Just have one. Please.'

John took a biscuit and bit into it. It was wonderful. 'Who are these from?' he asked, finishing it.

'Old friend of the family,' Sherlock said offhandedly. He was busy opening his last gift and when he'd gotten the paper off he paused. 

John looked. It was a violin case with a note taped to the top. _Remember this? I found it last week._ John thought he recognized the handwriting as Mycroft's.

Sherlock opened the case and pulled out a beautiful violin. He was silent as he put the instrument under his chin and fitted the bow to it with a trembling hand. Emotions flickered across his face as he drew out an unsteady note and then began to play, hunched as if bracing himself. The piece was shaky and slightly out of tune, but unmistakably 'God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen'.

John sat beside him, awed. He'd had no idea that Sherlock could play.

Sherlock drew out a final, shaky note, and then sat staring wide-eyed at the instrument in his lap.

'Sherlock-' John finally said quietly.

Sherlock jumped. He'd completely forgotten John was there.

'Sorry...' John smiled a little. 'That was...amazing. I didn't know...'

'Yeah...' Sherlock's eyes were still far away as the flickered over the violin. 'I...I learned a long time ago...'

 

That evening, Sherlock was sitting in one of the armchairs in the common room, staring into the depths of the fire. 

'Something wrong?' John asked.

'Just thinking,' Sherlock said heavily. He was quiet for a moment. 'What it would be like to have a family, and be spending Christmas with them. Someone to come home to and visit with for the holidays...'

John was quiet for a long time. 'What about your family? You never talk about them...You've met mine, I want to know what your family's like.'

'You know about Mycroft,' Sherlock said shortly.

'Yeah, he's your brother, and seven years older than you.' John looked at him. 'C'mon you and your brother had to have come from somewhere.'

'Yes,' Sherlock said. 'We are actually human beings, contrary to some people's statements.' He sighed and asked, 'Why do you want to know?'

John shrugged. 'Curious? What about...what about your parents?' he questioned tentatively.

'Like I said last year, John, what parents?'

'But...' John signed, hating himself. 'I just... are they...dead or...or...'

'Look.' Sherlock sighed, sounding pained. 'They're not here. I live with Mycroft, it's just me and him. I might live with someone else next year. I haven't got any parents so ...please, please just drop it.' He shook his head sadly. 'I haven't got anyone...'

'You've got me,' John said gently, hoping Sherlock wasn't mad at him.

The other boy wasn't. 'I guess I do.' Sherlock smiled slightly.

There was a tap at the window. A large, black owl was hovering outside. Sherlock crossed to the window and untied a note from the bird's ankle. He read it quickly and was tossing it into the fire by the time the owl was out of sight.

'What--?' John asked.

'I'm going to bed,' Sherlock said. He turned back and smiled faintly. 'Happy Christmas, John.'

When Sherlock had gone, John grabbed the note from where it had missed the fire and uncrumpled it. It said something about still playing the game.

John was very sure that Sherlock was keeping alot from him this year, and he prayed it wouldn't get the other boy killed.


	14. Questions and Answers

Sherlock's birthday came and went shortly after New Year's, only marked by John's gift, Mycroft's letter, and a card that Sherlock didn't show John.

The weeks started passing very quickly after that, especially with the approaching exams, and everyone desperately trying to study as the weather got better. Sherlock, however, seemed to be in the same attitude as last year, and wasn't focusing much on schoolwork. 

'Too much else going on,' he said thoughtfully, but John could read a hidden glee in his eyes.

'I know that look, Sherlock, what's going on? Did you finally get information?' 

Sherlock had been talking to every to every student who'd some into class all groggy and disorientated over the past year. He'd been fair to John as well, and told him before he was going to go poking around. But that didn't make John any less worried for the students when they all said they didn't remember why they were disorientated.

'Talking to a Ravenclaw.' Sherlock smirked. 'Even if I don't learn anymore, it's nearly the end of the year, so if anyone has plans of doing anything serious, I'd hazard a guess that they'd do it soon.'

John sighed.

 

The Ravenclaw girl was more than happy to talk to them. She also wouldn't take her eyes off Sherlock. John sighed, hating his friend for being the one that the girls liked, especially when the boy didn't even notice them.

'There's...someone. Sorry, I don't remember who,' she added quickly to Sherlock's withering look. 'But they're bring groups of students to them to do what they call a logic test.'

'Choosing a certain potion,' John said slowly. From what they'd heard, their 'tester' gave the students a choice between two vials; one with juice, the other with some sort of potion.

'Yes.' The girl smiled softly. 'The object was to not take the potion. They said they wanted to test our logic, and the potion, and they didn't want to test people who were willing, so anyone who didn't want to would walk out.'

Sherlock's eyes flashed. He thought of when he found Victor, tied up and meant to be forced the potion that Sherlock had got instead for prying. 'But not everyone has a choice.'

The girl sighed. 'No. I heard they were forcing the potion on the people who'd refused the test. I think that's probably why some of us are worse at remembering.' She frowned. 'I don't know what they're after, but they've all but stopped asking people.'

'So whatever they're planning, they're doing it soon...' Sherlock muttered under his breath.

'What?' the girl asked.

'Nothing.' Sherlock sighed. 'Thank you for your help.'

'Ebony' The girl said. Sherlock stared at her. 'My name is Ebony.'

'Great.' Sherlock walked off, leaving John to awkwardly apologize/excuse them and walk away as well.

'Sherlock, I know what you want to happen. You want something bad to happen. You've got a theory, you've always got a theory. You want to work out whatever's going on and put a stop to it.'

'Your point?' Sherlock said frowning.

'Because whenever you get into something, you tend to get hurt.'

'It's not like I do it on purpose!'

'Just...don't do anything without me, okay?'

'You're still on about whoever drugged me, aren't you?' Sherlock looked at John simply. 'Don't worry about it, they weren't trying to kill me.'

John shook his head. 'How would you know, you said you didn't even know who they are?'

'Just...trust me on it, alright?' He sighed. 'I'll be looking around tomorrow. Tonight I have homework to finish.' He looked at John. 'And you've got Quidditch. I won't do anything without you.'

'I'm amazed you remembered that,' John said honestly. They started up the stairs to the common room.

Sherlock grabbed a passing Slytherin. 'Give this to Jim Moriarty for me. Tell him Sherlock says it's time to play.' He handed the frowning boy a slip of parchment and the boy grinned.

'He'll like that, I would think. Have fun, Holmes.'

'What was that about?!' John asked. 'Play what? What are you planning?'

Sherlock was quiet. 'Something we're meant to do.'

'He's dangerous, you're not "meant" to do anything with him. Please, Sherlock, _be careful_.'

Sherlock gave John his lopsided smirk. 'Always, John.'


	15. Attempted Murder

The next day, Sherlock was missing. John couldn't find him anywhere. He'd missed Charms, in fact, so had a few students. John was nervous and worried. He really hoped that Sherlock hadn't been messing with someone, but the large amount of other students gone (mostly Ravenclaw, with a few Slytherins) told him otherwise. Something was wrong.

 

Sherlock growled as he watched the others around him being force-fed the same potion he had been drugged with months ago. This was stupid. He couldn't believe he'd gotten himself stuck here. He jerked against the stronger arms of the two Slytherin boys, but to no avail. He didn't know how he was gonna get out of this one.

Soon, Tesseract was standing in front of him, with a flask of potion. He forced Sherlock's head back and tipped the potion into the boy's mouth. Sherlock choked, trying not to swallow. 'Ah no, there's no point in struggling, Holmes. I won't kill you until I've done with you what I wanted.' He frowned. 'Though I thought Moriarty said you enjoyed the potion...'

He looked up at Tesseract and smirked, even though he was desperately trying to think of a way out. 'Not from you. He and I have got something special-'

Tesseract punched him, 'Shut up, smart mouth,'  and then moved away.

Sherlock felt the effects of the potion sinking in all too quickly, and forgot quickly about his throbbing eye. He knew what was coming and hating himself for letting himself get here. He told John he'd be safe, and now he was being used. He listened to the sounds of the other students being imperiused into attacking teachers and possibly other students.

He swore quietly. Tesseract chuckled, walking over to him. 'You know why I'm doing this, right?'

'You're a squib,' Sherlock said softly. He felt very groggy, not in control of his actions. The vague blur that the potion brought on had been comforting when he was in the hospital wing, but now it was too annoying. He was having trouble focusing. 'of...a sort. You have magic, but didn't have enough when you were 11...Dumbledore had told you you couldn't come...' Sherlock snorted. 'My brother found out about you for me...you with your books by a dragon dealer...I hope you saw his arrest last month. I thought you seemed dangerous, the first time we met...' Sherlock grimaced. Fat load of good that had done him.

'Holmes, you would have done well in Slytherin; you would've done better working for the right side.'

'THAT SIDE!' Sherlock struggled against his captors. 'I am always being told to choose a side, that my mother had been on one side, that something is coming, and I should be on the "right side"...' he panted slightly. 'What the _hell_ is everybody on about.'

Tesseract grinned. 'You're the wannabe detective. You figure it out.' She paused. 'IMPERIO!' 

Sherlock growled. There was something in his head telling him gently to walk out and attack the first person he saw. _You're clever, you're a fantastic wizard. Show them. Make them see. They won't bully you anymore._

No no no...Sherlock shook his head, trying to clear it.

'Don't fight it, Holmes.' He barely heard Tesseract's voice.

_You don't need anyone...stand up and tell them who you truly are._

Sherlock thought of John. He did need someone, he needed John. And if he was honest, Victor, Molly, Bill...He didn't need to show up to anyone, because they all saw him for who he was...

The gentle voice in Sherlock's head broke and he lept at his chance, running from the dungeon.

'AVADA KEDAVRA!' Tesseract screamed.

Sherlock felt a breeze from the spell along his let sleeve, and saw a flash of green cascade into the stone wall to his left. He ran faster, trying to ignore the fat that he was _scared_.

 

John heard shouts from the hall and was about to go out the portrait door when Sherlock came hurling through it.

'Jesus, finally!' John said, relieved. 'I've been looking for you all day, are you okay?'

Sherlock gasped, leaning against the wall. 'No. Tesseract. Sending students to attack...' He swallowed heavily. 'He was given those students the choice of the potion; testing it out and then testing his imperius....imperius curse...' Sherlock's legs gave out and he sat down against the wall. 'Shit. Shit. Potion's working...'

'So he was the one that drugged you awhile ago?' John asked nervously.

'No...two people grabbed me, nearly everyone involved was a Slytherin, I could make out their robes....' He shook his head.

John frowned. 'But-'

'John, more important things. Rampant drugged student killing machines...' Sherlock swallowed. 'Literally....' He looked up at John. If Tesseract tried to kill me just because I got away, I don't want to think of what the other students...'

'He tried to kill you?!' John's voice sounded higher.

'Clearly I'm fine, John.' Sherlock hauled himself to his feet and moved to the back of the fat lady's portrait. 'There's alot of them, the staff's gonna need help. I'm probably correct in assuming one of them can handle Tesseract, but I wouldn't mind a second go at him if I saw him...'

'Sherlock. You stay here. I'll go. How much use are you gonna be drugged?' John shook his head.

Sherlock gave him a sideways look. 'More important things, John.' And they both ran out into the corridor, dodging curses.

 

John knew Sherlock would head straight through everyone, trying to find Tesseract. 'EXPELLIARMUS!' John shouted at the nearest girl trying to kill them. 

'Hello Freak!' 

Sally had been given the potion, John registered as he turned. He worried that Sherlock hadn't noticed, but when he looked, the boy was jumping over a fallen bookshelf as he sent a spell that made Sally collapse. Then sherlock was hit by a jet of light and was on the floor.

'Idiot!' John cursed. He disarmed three students and was at Sherlock's side as the boy raised himself slowly. 'You okay?' John panted. 

'Yeah...' Sherlock sounded uncertain, but he stood quick enough.

They ran out into the staircase and down. Sherlock shouted something about Dumbledore's office, but John had seen something and hadn't noticed.

Leaning against the railing outside a doorway opposite, was Jim Moriarty. He was grinning slightly, his eyes empty, as he watched the chaos going on around him. Then he met John's eyes and grinned more broadly.

'Come on, John!' Sherlock shouted, way below John. 

But John ran towards Moriarty instead. He needed answers, and he instinctively knew that the older Slytherin was involved with this.


	16. Albus Dumbledore and Moriarty's Answers

John found Moriarty a few minutes later standing in the exact same spot. His back was facing John, but John was willing to bet 12 galleons that the stupid grin was still on Moriarty's face.

'So what the hell are you doing?' John wanted to shout it, but he for some reason was always way calm under stress. 

A spell from below them lit up Moriarty's face as he turned around. 'Johnny-boy, what do you think I'm doing? Watching the world burn, and watching our dear friend Sherlock dance.'

'He's not your friend,' John snapped angrily.

'Am I a worse friend then you?' Moriarty smirked at John's look. 'Has he told you about me? We've talked a few times this year, surely he tells you everything, you're ever so concerned.' He stepped closer to John. 'Don't make the mistake of thinking he's a good person, Johnny-boy...everyone tells him he belongs in Slytherin.'

'He doesn't.' John didn't even hesitate when he said so. He believed inexplicably that Sherlock was a good person.

'Reeeally now?' Moriarty's eyes were playful. 'You might want to ask him a few things. Such as why he hasn't told Dumbledore about what's been going on around here this year, or why he didn't tell you everything after he'd ben drugged.'

'What the...' John stared into Moriarty's eyes, 'hell? I trust him.'

Jim just smirked.

 

Sherlock ran to the corridor that led to Dumbledore's office. He didn't count on Tesseract already been there so he wasn't moving quitely. Stupid. Stupid.

Tesseract spun, green light emitting from his wand, and Sherlock dove under the spell at Tesseract's legs, tackling the man. Tesseract grunted as he ended up on the floor. But he recovered quickly, bringing his legs up and kicking Sherlock in the chest. Sherlock was flung towards the eagle statue and fell against it slightly, panting.

'You're very resilient,' Tesseract said, looking at Sherlock. 'You broke an imperius curse, and are fighting against the effects of a very powerful potion...'

Sherlock grinned. 'Heh.' He stood up a bit and swallowed. 'Well, when you've grown up with a filthy muggle father trying to beat the magic out of you every other night.' He smirked. 'You learn a thing or two about resilience.'

Tesseract and Sherlock both shot spells at the same time, neither of them made their mark...but Dumbledore's did. 

Tesseract crumpled as Dumbledore's stunning spell hit him.

'You alright, Mr. Holmes?' Dumbledore looked at the boy. 

Sherlock nodded. '...Nice one, sir...'

Dumbledore smiled warmly. 'If you hadn't been keeping him occupied, I daresay I would have had a bit more trouble. Forgive me,' he looked at Sherlock concernedly, 'I had-'

'If you're going to talk about my family-' Sherlock looked angry.

There was a soft chuckle from Dumbledore. 'No, no I took from the tone of your voice and the circumstances of you bringing it up that it's...well,' Dumbledore's eyes were light, 'I was going to ask you to forgive me, I meant to check up on you last year, after your confrontation with Rathe, and this year after you'd been drugged.'

'You didn't need-'

'However, you seem very capable.' Dumbledore smiled. 'And in the very capable hands of Mister Watson.'

'...Thank you sir...' Sherlock wasn't sure what to say.

'You've done great things in two years, Sherlock Holmes. I think I would be right in predicting that you will grow up to be a great man, and a very good one.' Dumbledore smiled. 'The other teacher's are helping the other drugged students. I would advise you to head back to the Gryffindor dormitory to avoid being sent to the hospital wing.'

'I...er...thanks.' Sherlock looked at Dumbledore. He was honestly impressed with the man who stood before him. He wanted to say something but had no idea what. 'Thank you sir,' he said again lamely, and hurried out.

'Good luck, Mr. Holmes,' Dumbledore called softly after him.


	17. Broken Pieces

'So Dumbledore's sorted it all?' John asked Sherlock. The raven-haired boy was sitting on his bed, trying to determine what classes to take the next year.

'Yeah.' Sherlock sighed. 'Ministry came to collect tesseract this morning.'

John nodded and was quiet for a long time. He didn't want to ask Sherlock what he had been thinking about. But he _needed_ answers. 'So...Moriarty.'

Sherlock looked up at John lazily. 'What about him?'

'Bumped into him while the fight was going on yesterday. He called himself your friend.' John was watching Sherlock closely.

Sherlock chuckled. 'We're definitely not friends, John.' Then her grew serious. 'He didn't threaten you or anything, did he?'

John shook his head and Sherlock nodded contentedly, going back to the list of classes.

'But he did say you weren't telling me everything.'

There was an eye roll from Sherlock. 'Do you need to know everything?' he asked quietly.

'It was him that drugged you, wasn't it?' 

There was a long silence. Then Sherlock shifted and sighed. 'Yes,' he said softly.

John let out a breath. 'So...you knew this whole year that he probably had a part in this...thing that Tesseract was planning. You knew how dangerous he was and you only went and _talked_ with him?' John shook his head. 'You didn't think of _doing_ anything about it?'

'Why should I, John?' Sherlock said simply, but his voice was showing signs of anger and irritation. 'No one believed me last year when I told them that Carl's death wasn't an accident. Moriarty's the perfect student; why would anyone think anything else of him? Besides, he never wanted to kill me when he drugged me.'

'Sherlock-'

'He told me. We first talked right after I found Molly's owl. He gets bored as much as I do-it's like a game between us, trying to see who's gonna slip up first.'

'So you _played_ with Moriarty?' John didn't know what to think. He was livid. 'After all those times the past two years he's sent students to hurt you...you knew he was...and you just-'

'John, I _need_ distractions. I need _someone_ -'

John opened his mouth in anger, ready to shout at the raven-haired boy, but then closed his mouth and shook his head. 'D'you know what? Sod it. Sod this, all of it. You can get the HELL away from me, and maybe put the rest of the school in danger again while you're doing so. Bloody freaks, both of you.' John's eyes stung as he said it, knowing he'd hurt Sherlock, but right now John was feeling hurt and angry. 'You don't care about anything, or anyone, just your bloody stupid distractions. Well, I've had ENOUGH. GET THE HELL OUT.'

There was a small, whimpering noise from Sherlock, but John didn't want to turn back to him. He was way too angry for that now.

he heard Sherlock's footsteps quickly leave the room, and the dormitory door slam shut. Then he heard a yell, and something that sounded like breaking glass, followed by Victor's voice, 'Sherlock? Hey Sherlock, you-? WAIT!'

Victor burst into the room angrily. 'WHAT HAPP-' He blinked, seeing John. 'What...what happened?' 

John sighed and looked away. 'We fought.'

Victor kept looking at John. 'Okay...'

John got up and started cleaning the space around his bed. He didn't feel like talking. He didn't think there was anything to talk about.

'I should go after him,' Victor muttered, looking out the window.

'Do what you want.'

 

Sherlock stepped to the edge of the terrace and let out a scream of frustration. He was angry. He had no idea how to fix this; this wasn't something as easy as 'fixing'. There were tears burning his face, but Sherlock didn't have the will to wipe them away.

He thought of John, calling him a freak, and suddenly he was leaning over the terrace, vomiting.

'Sherlock?'

The boy threw up once more before he felt Victor's hand on his shoulder. 

Sherlock closed his eyes and turned away from Victor's concerned look, sitting against the parapet wall. 

'You okay?'

'Not really,' Sherlock answered quietly, slowly shaking his head. He still felt sick, and his hand was bleeding from breaking the window.

'Should go see madam Pomfrey,' Victor commented quietly.

'Rather not...' He looked out of the corner of his eye at Victor, who still looked concerned and unsure of what to do. 'You don't have to be out here with me; it's not like we're friends, right?'

'I want to.' Victor met Sherlock Holmes. 'Besides, you saved my neck from those Slytherins earlier this year, and we share a dorm..it's about time we were friends, if anything. You're not a bad person.'

Sherlock snorted. But Victor looked serious. 'Do you mind if we just sit here for awhile then?' Sherlock asked quietly.

 

John spent the remaining days hanging out with Mike, and some members of the Quidditch team. He caught Sherlock and Victor together quite a bit, but didn't want to wonder if the two had become friends. He didn't want to think about Sherlock yet.

Soon, they were all on the Hogwarts express, and John caught himself guiltily wishing he was sitting with Sherlock in a compartment, instead of Victor. But he was still angry at Sherlock, and put up with it. 

Mike asked him if he'd wanted to hang out this summer. John said he'd think about it-he knew his parents hadn't seen Mike's in a while, but it would be different since John hadn't been over there in years either.

As John walked into his mother's hug, he saw his father watching Sherlock say goodbye to Victor and walk to Mycroft. 'Did something happen between you two?'

John shrugged, trying to seem unbothered by it, but he was bothered. He did care about Sherlock, however reckless the boy was. As he got into his parents car for the drive home, all he wanted was for things to go back to normal, but knowing he'd hurt Sherlock, he was scared they never would.

**Author's Note:**

> Quidditch is crazy-hard to write.  
> I struggled alot writing this one but in the end I think it worked out.  
> As always, any and all feedback is HUGELY appreciated.  
> Thanks for reading so far and I hope you'll continue onto year 3 :)


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